The Likely Lads

England, 1943.

The tide of war had turned.

The Axis forces fell in North Africa,

were defeated in Stalingrad and gave way in Italy.

While somewhere in war-torn Britain,

Mrs Edith Collier capitulated to the advances of

her husband, Corporal Cyril Collier who,

flushed with the news from Tunis, and Newcastle Brown Ale,

wouldn't take no for an answer.

Cyril, at least wait till the all-clear.

What if we had to be rescued?

I mean it could be so undignified, pet.

Edith.

Go on Edith.

The Blitz is playing havoc with our ceiling.

Meanwhile, not many miles away,

Lance Bombardier Leslie Ferris

of an anti-aircraft coastal command unit

was bidding a fond farewell.

Les!

Oh, come on Alice, we are engaged.

Only since this morning.

But this is war.

I'm leaving tomorrow.

Only for Catterick.

The bus might crash.

Well.

In war, our dearest, we must cling to

every precious moment.

Like Walter Pidgeon said at the Regal last Friday.

Couldn't we at least turn the search light out.

I wrote to our Cyril.

I said that's what he gets for being drunk and careless

and trying to take my mind of an air-raid.

Eh, we're so close.

Must've been the same air-raid.

By, that Hitler's got a lot to answer for.

I want me ball back.

Look I'll give you the money.

You can get yourself a new one tomorrow.

Loan us a quid Bob.

What!

Don't want another ball, I want that ball.

Well it's a bit difficult now isn't it.

That ball's got Malcolm Macdonald's autograph on it.

You kicked it up there.

Not on purpose!

I was only making a strong clearance.

Oh look, one of us'll have to go and fetch it.

Up that drainpipe?

We did it often enough at their age.

Let one of them go then.

I'll tell me brother.

Shut up!

His brother's bigger than you.

I'll tell you what, fair's fair.

Which hand's it in?

That one.

Rats!

Hello.

Oh, hello Terry.

What?

Sorry?

Why?

What roof?

Got to go, me dinner's ready.

Oh that's right, you just piss off.

Don't give a second thought to him up there.

See you next Sunday.

Don't bank on it.

Suicide was it?

Might be later when he gets home to the wife.

We've got better things to do

with the rate payer's money, lad.

I'm sorry, I just love me nerve.

Keeps your hands in doesn't it.

Better than spending all afternoon polishing your bell.

Never grow up, some people.

Ah well.

Move yourself Ferris.

The hour of doom is at hand.

If Mrs Ferris calls, Wendy,

tell her I've gone to the North Road site.

All right Bob.

Where is actually you're going?

I'm going to the Fat Ox.

Middle of the day?

Not just any day Wendy.

Today's a very special day.

Tinged with poignancy and regret for things past.

How?

They're pulling the Fat Ox down.

Funeral you say?

Yes sir, old friend.

I'd just like to pay me last respects.

Well I could've done with a bit of notice.

I've only just heard sir.

I'll just be adding a bit to me lunch hour.

Go on then.

Thank you Mr Chipchase.

Who's died?

Part of me's died.

What's the matter with you?

I know how you feel kidder.

Oh yes?

Worse for you than for me.

I only spent my childhood here.

You've lived here all your life.

It's taken that long to pull the bugger down.

It was condemned the year I was born.

Me dad used to say, we'll not be in here long.

Only temporary, he said.

That's why we never re-papered the front room.

You must feel some nostalgia though.

These streets are ugly but they have a kind of beauty.

Working class sentiment is an indulgence of

working class people who have cracked it

through football or rock and roll.

Or people like you who moved out

to the Elm Lodge housing estate at the earliest opportunity.

Well, I didn't want my kids brought up in these streets.

Joe.

Oh Terry, Bob.

Usual?

Yes please, the usual.

Aye.

Is anything left?

There's one keg.

Well, it has to be drunk.

Aye.

No no son, it's on the house.

Oh that's nice.

Isn't that nice.

What a nice gesture.

First time in 14 years.

Aye well.

Always kept a good drop did Joe.

Here you are lads.

There's a present for the two of you.

What is it?

The dartboard.

Oh Joe.

I know it's going to a good home.

It is.

When do these lads do they deed?

When we're dry.

That's it then.

Rest in peace.

I'll have the glasses back lads.

Certainly Joe.

You'll come and see us in the new one, won't you.

Of course we will.

What's it like?

Bloody sight better than this one.

I mean, nobody cares!

Nobody really cares.

Nobody's moved by the occasion.

Well those residents are.

Moved to a high-rise.

Soulless concrete blocks.

What do you mean?

It's got a modern kitchen, a lovely view

and an inside lavatory.

These streets had poetry.

Well there's not much poetry at four in the morning,

padding down the yard to a freezing outside bog.

You missed my point Terry, you missed my point.

Where are you going?

I'm gonna get a memento from the old house.

A souvenir or something.

Hey lads, keep away from there, it's not safe.

Not safe?

I was a baby when this street was bombed by the Germans.

It didn't worry me then and it's not gonna worry me now.

You told me you were a promotional

and merchandising executive

with a leading manufacturer.

So I am.

No you're not.

You just drive this thing.

Drop us off at the library, I've gotta pick Thelma up.

You're in no fit state.

She'll know you've been with me and I'll get the blame.

Terry, she's expecting me.

Nobody cares darling, nobody cares.

Shush!

Don't you shush me!

I've just seen my past bulldozed away.

Do you see this brick.